


The Wandmaker's Circle

by Harmonic_Wisp



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Extended Wandlore, Gen, Mentor & Protégé, wholesome fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:14:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27812845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonic_Wisp/pseuds/Harmonic_Wisp
Summary: Garrick Ollivander wasn't looking for an apprentice, and Hermione Granger didn't even know his world had existed prior to that afternoon. They'll soon learn that the best bonds are the ones we come upon in a moment of absoluteSerendipity.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Garrick Ollivander
Comments: 12
Kudos: 23





	1. Birch & Phoenix Feather

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Harry Potter, but this plot bunny is _mine_.

_“Ollivanders - Makers of Fine Wands since 382 BC!”_

The tagline, and by extension the sign it had been engraved into, had been in place since about _118 AD_ on the five hundredth year anniversary of the business’ grand opening. For as long as Garrick Ollivander had been able to read, he had looked upon the simple yet elegantly carved placard with pride for all that his family had achieved and a promise within his heart to accomplish so much more on top of that. 

Now as he stood outside his shop, with his finely tailored black mourning robes heavy against his skin from the deluge of rain, he only felt a numb tiredness when he gazed upon the wooden plaque above his shop. This place was his family’s legacy, and the mark he would for the world when it came time for him to leave it. 

_“Papa!” Sophia, with her bright blue eyes that reminded Garrick so much of his father’s, bounced up to him and beamed as she tugged him closer to the shop. They had already been on their way there but when she smiled in that way that only she and her late mother could, the wandmaker bemusedly indulged in her request to pick up the pace. The father of the impatient seven year old chuckled at her overly dramatic moan; apparently he had not gone fast enough for her._

_“Relax Sophia, one would think that the shop would up and leave if we were even a minute late!” The glare she threw him might’ve been acerbic on anyone else. On his beautiful little girl, it simply looked like she was a smidge constipated. Garrick only half attempted to smother his ensuing laughter._

_By the look of petulance on the younger Ollivander, he had entirely failed._

_“Papa! This is a serious matter! You told me you would teach me how to make grandfather’s special wood stain. How am I to properly take over the shop when you retire if I can’t even do_ that _?”_

_If Garrick could smile anymore than he already was, he would. With a swoop and an ecstatic shriek from his quarry, the wandmaker had his daughter in his arms as he quickened his pace towards his shop._

_“Well that won’t do then! I can’t have my lovely apprentice so unknowledgeable about such an important part of our trade. Best be prepared though - my father’s recipe smells like sun bathed thestral dung on the best of days.”_

_“Ew, that’s gross, Papa!”_

In spite of the terrible smell it induced, Sophia Ollivander had mastered his father’s particularly tricky recipe for wood stain. In fact, in the decades that followed she would learn anything and everything that her father had to teach her in the fabled art of wand making. While Garrick was nowhere near ready to retire and fully leave the business, it was not uncommon to see his progeny downstairs handling customers while he labored on a particularly finicky project. And the opposite was true as well, there were times when the elder Ollivander would be downstairs matching wands to new owners while his daughter worked on their newest batch of wand cores. If there was anyone the old wandmaker could trust to help him shoulder every facet of his business, it was Sophia. The two were an unbeatable team, and all of the wizarding side of the UK knew it.

Garrick had never been prouder.

Then Voldemort happened. 

Much like the wands that lay dormant and waiting within the confines of their shop, the Ollivander family had remained firmly neutral. None could coerce them to lean towards one side or the other. Garrick had hoped that if they had stayed out of it, they would be spared the chaos and destruction that seemed to plague the rest of the island. His daughter had argued that “doing nothing” was not a guarantee that they would come out of the conflict unscathed. The elder Ollivander hadn’t listened.

Sophia was proved right on March 28th, 1978 when _Slug & Jiggers _ became the site of a violent skirmish between the Dark Lord’s forces and several aurors. The conflict had lasted only forty minutes before it finally died down and the aggressors had fled. The damage to that section of Diagon Alley was extensive, but the Prophet had claimed that they had been “lucky that there were only a few casualties in spite of everything.” 

_Luck_. Garrick had unsubscribed to the filthy rag that his countrymen had called _“news,"_ but only after he had incinerated that issue in a fit of grief driven rage.

Sophia hadn’t been _lucky_. She had just been in the wrong place, at the wrong time. 

The storied wandmaker had mourned deeply for his daughter and her life that had been far, _far_ too short. But then he moved on. Ollivander had buried himself in his research, his wands, and his shop. Anything to both preserve and drive away the painful memory of hopeful bright blue eyes and an impish smile that no one else could replicate.

It wasn’t healthy, but it worked. The only day of the year that he allowed himself to think of Sophia and _grieve_ was on the day of her death. Garrick would close up shop, put on his best garb and visit her grave in Highgate Cemetery. After a few hours of rambling at her tombstone, he would eventually return to the store, sit in his workshop, and then ruminate uselessly for the rest of the day. 

_“Master!_ Yous be soaking wet!” Garrick blinked before he turned towards the source of the lecturing tone. There atop the counter was Lori, his house elf. The little thing was barely two feet in height, but still looked rather intimidating as she gave him an accusing glare. To be fair, he had only been inside his shop for all of two minutes but there was a veritable sea of water around him thanks to all the rain he had absorbed on his way back from Highgate. Garrick hadn’t bothered with the water repelling charms, and Lori could obviously see that. 

“Ah… It seems I am. I apologise for the mess, Lori.” The guilty wizard raised his hands in what he hoped was an appeasing display, but the house elf only glared harder at him.

“Yous better be. Go sits and I’ll get you some soup!” She snapped her fingers and his clothes were dry again, though they felt slightly stiff as if they had been forcibly air dried right then and there. The little creature shooed the nearly eighty year old adult up the stairs to his office and workshop as if he were a fussy child. Garrick let out a low chuckle as he acquiesced to her demand. 

Lori had been a recent addition to his life after a second cousin of his had seen him during one of his bad days soon after Sophia’s passing. Apparently the wandmaker had seemed like he needed an extra pair of hands to take care of both the store and himself. Garrick had initially tried to refuse the “gift,” but was not given a choice in the matter when the house elf took one look at him and declared that she was staying to “take care of him, whether he liked it or not!” 

The little thing was surprisingly more bossy than subservient, but he later became grateful for her forceful presence.

It made the shop less quiet, and that more than the cooking or cleaning was enough for him.

Ollivander sat himself down at his desk and let his body sink into the worn cushions in his chair. It wasn’t even mid afternoon, but he knew that today of all days he wouldn’t be doing much of anything. Anyone who knew him and was aware of the date knew to leave him alone. And for everyone else? The _‘closed’_ sign was prominently displayed in the shop window. 

The admittedly middle aged wizard then decided that he would go along with the lousy mood of the day and close his eyes for a small nap while he waited for the food to be brought up. The _pitter patter_ from the rain outside his window was enough white noise to lull him into a soft drowse.

_Tink. Tink. Tink._

Though that tapping noise was somewhat irritating. 

_Tink. Tink. Tink._

Wait, _tapping_ noise? Garrick opened a single eye and glanced towards his window, where he saw the most miserable sight. A little brown bird, as soaked as he previously was just outside the glass. A quick wave of his hand saw the panel open, and the little thing popped in and was on his desk before he knew it. After the wizard had re-shut the window, he took a closer look at the bird. Upon more thorough inspection, it was a sparrow and in spite of its drenched appearance it firmly held onto a small little twig in its beak. A _familiar_ looking twig at that.

“I’m sorry little one, may I please see that item you have there?” Even if one grew up in the wizarding world, one might still gawk at the old wandmaker’s request. After all, it’s not like the bird was an owl or even one of the other predator birds more favored in Eastern Europe. Garrick Ollivander on the other hand was not one to be deterred by such narrow mindedness. The sparrow took one look at the man’s outstretched palm and gladly dropped the twig into his waiting hand. As the tiny ball of feathers finally took a moment to shake itself of all the excess moisture, the wandmaker examined the sample of flora that had been deliberately delivered to him. 

_Mistletoe_. And not just any Mistletoe at that, but _Lumerian Mistletoe_. A rather tenacious magical counterpart to a common floral pest. While it had its uses in potion making and the like, it was also incredibly detrimental to whatever tree it had decided to cling to. It wasn’t a terribly hard plant to remove if one was knowledgeable of how to do so, but _today_ of all days?

Garrick pursed his lips and turned back to the tiny messenger that perched itself on his desk. The sparrow was looking at him rather intently, almost as if it was judging his reluctance. The two watched the other for a few good seconds before the wizard let out a sigh and a chuckle in amusement.

Anyone with a calendar and common sense knew not to bother him on this day.

“Lori! Please pack the soup for me to go. I have to meet with a friend.”

But then again, she didn’t have a calendar so he supposed he could let this one pass.

-oOo-

The distinctive _pop_ of apparition echoed and bounced throughout the expansive collection of trees. Garrick made note of the overly moist ground of the clearing he was in, but was happy to see that the heavy rains that had plagued London had already subsided here in the _Forest of Dean_. After he made sure that he had all of his tools in his bag and that the mason jar filled with soup was still under a formidable stasis charm, the wandmaker went on his way. 

There were no paths in this part of the forest, but the wizard had made this trip more times than he could count. It wasn’t long before he caught sight of his destination. Even in a woodland such as this one, the massive oak tree easily dwarfed many of its surrounding counterparts. 

Trees that served as Dryad dwellings often enjoyed the growth boost that came with having a live-in, magical gardener. 

_“... only mildly uncomfortable dear, don’t worry about me. I’m sure my friend will be here any second now!”_

Ah, there she was.

_“Are you sure? You said he lived in London, and that’s three hours away_ at least! _How will he get here so quickly?”_

Oh, that was a new voice. Garrick lengthened his stride, and before he knew it he was at the base of the oak. It took him an extra moment to register what he was seeing though.

Practically tied to the tree she normally took care of, Eupheme was a rather funny sight to see as she fidgeted in place. Unfortunately, the Lumerian Mistletoe held her firmly against the bark, almost as if someone had deliberately placed the plant to trap the Dryad there. It was honestly more likely that the pesky piece of vegetation had moved in shortly before the rains and had surprised her when it suddenly exploded in growth with the deluge of excess water. 

Garrick had expected this when the sparrow had arrived with a sample of the plant. What he _didn’t_ expect was Eupheme’s conversation partner. 

A little girl that looked to be no more than maybe six or seven stood at the base of the tree. She had a bright yellow raincoat on, some wellies to account for all the puddles on the ground, and a great volume of brown hair that had clearly become extra frizzy from all the excess moisture in the air. She looked upon the Dryad with obvious concern in her eyes as she anxiously wrung her hands.

“Oh! There he is. Garrick, hello there!” Eupheme’s voice knocked the wizard out of his shock. This also served to break the child out of her bubble of worry as she spun around and dropped her jaw at the sight of him.

“Wait- how- _but-!_ ” The dryad giggled at the flabbergasted look on the little brunette. 

“I told you that Flen would get to Garrick in no time.” For someone who was comically tied to the side of a tree by a parasitic pest of a plant, Eupheme looked rather smug as she looked at her long time friend. “I told Hermione that London isn’t too far for you, but she went on about _driving times_ \- whatever that might be.” 

That seemed to shake the child out of her momentary speechlessness. 

“But it’s true! London is _at least_ 120 miles away by car! Most Tree Sparrows can’t travel more than maybe twenty five miles per hour. How did he get the message and arrive all within twenty minutes?!” 

Garrick felt his mouth tick up as it threatened to form a smile. Though from what little he had gathered about this girl, she didn’t seem like the type that would appreciate his open amusement at her lack of information. A lost muggle child perhaps?

The tirade went on and the wizard spotted the telling spark that travelled through Hermione’s voluminous hair. 

_Ah, muggleborn_. 

The amused adult calmly put a hand up, and thankfully the child had taken that as a sign to pause her rant. She watched as the mysterious friend of Eupheme’s reached into an inside pocket of his rather long coat and pulled out the sparrow that she and the… _Dryad_ (?) had sent nearly half an hour earlier. 

The little bird, Flen, had quickly taken off from the old man’s hand. Hermione watched as the bird flew a quick circle around them before it immediately dove… straight into a tree?! The brunette cried out, but then watched in shocked fascination as the bark seemed to almost _ripple_ like a disturbed pool of water. Sudden movement on her peripheral caused her to whip her head in that direction, only to drop her jaw yet again as Flen popped up out of a tree at least a hundred feet away. 

“Our little friend over there isn’t a _Tree Sparrow,_ but a _Tree Striding Sparrow_. Honest mistake really. They look remarkably similar.” 

Hermione felt her mouth close with a click as she turned back to the odd gentleman. Rather than the smug smirk she often found on the faces of those happy to prove they knew more than her, she was grateful to note that there was only a friendly smile on his features. Remembering the manners that she had woefully forgotten a few minutes ago, Hermione held out her hand and smiled back at him. 

“Hello there, I’m Hermione Granger.”

He let loose a quick chuckle and gladly shook the child’s hand.

“Garrick Ollivander, it’s a pleasure to meet you Miss Granger.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Annnnnd they meet! I promise, in spite of the sad beginning this is a happy story! Happy I say! This is the beginning of a mish mash of ideas that suddenly gained a decent plot after I threw them all together. I'm not even going to comment on potential update schedules. I'm trying to trick myself into writing more often. Wish me luck!
> 
> Extra note: Thank you to "the_glare_you_see" for as always reading over my stuff for me. She's awesome like that. <3


	2. Ashes & Mistletoe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione gets her first experience with magical botany. And Ollivander casually drops a revelation that shakes the foundations of a child's world. 
> 
> So honestly, a typical Tuesday afternoon for Garrick.

“So if you spot the core, let me know and I’ll try to snip it!” 

“Alright!” Hermione enthusiastically nodded from her place at the base of the tree. Mr. Ollivander on the other hand was atop a step ladder stationed closest to the body of the trunk where the mistletoe was at its densest. For an elderly gentleman he seemed rather spry and sure of his footing, otherwise the young brunette would’ve been rather worried about him as he sat on his perch with a pair of garden shears. 

Or maybe Hermione was in too much  _ awe _ to consider even being worried. After all, Eupheme apparently didn’t keep a ladder around. After Mr. Ollivander had determined that they had required some height to deal with the botanical pest, he had looked at her,  _ winked _ and then pulled out what looked vaguely like a magician’s prop wand - albeit one made of wood.

And then he had simply  _ conjured _ a ladder out of thin air. Before the astonished six and a half year old could wrap her mind around what had happened in front of her, her new acquaintance had opened up his humble little satchel and reached his  _ whole arm _ in! After a moment of apparent digging, he had pulled out a set of shears that couldn’t have  _ possibly _ fit in the bag in the first place. 

If one didn’t consider just how utterly illogical the whole situation seemed to be, it was downright  _ amazing! _ It was certainly a lot more impressive than the magic show at Terry Maddox’s birthday party last year. 

Well, at least Hermione thought it would be. She wouldn’t know for sure, since she hadn’t been invited. 

“Are you quite alright, Hermione?” 

The young brunette blinked and belatedly realized she had been scowling at the thought of being shunned by yet another one of her schoolmates. She smoothed out her features and smiled back at Eupheme. 

“I’m alright, Miss Eupheme. Just thinking.” This seemed to placate the forest spirit, though even Hermione could spot the slight grimace on her face from her position still tied to the tree. Mr. Ollivander had said that it would be far too messy to attempt to try and cut Eupheme out, not with the way the _Lumerian Mistletoe_ was behaving. The poor woman simply had to literally hang in there until they could get her down. Though this reminded Hermione of the fact that she was talking to an _actual_ dryad! Added to the fact that Mr. Ollivander had pulled gardening equipment out of impossible places, and this was starting to resemble that one book series that the six and a half year old had recently started prior to this trip. 

The brunette could honestly say that she now knew somewhat how Lucy Pevensie felt when she first met Mr. Tumnus. 

An extraordinary experience while walking through the woods?  _ Check. _

Met an impossible magical creature and had a pleasant conversation?  _ Check. _

Start on a life changing journey to save the realm? Eh, that one was still pending. That and Hermione didn’t think her mother would appreciate her derailing their scheduled tea time by gallivanting off to do heroic deeds. 

Or getting lost in the woods when she had been explicitly told to stay close to their campsite. 

Hermione contained the groan that threatened to escape her. Mummy and Daddy were going to be  _ so _ upset at her. She hadn’t meant to go far! But she had gotten distracted in her own head for a bit and before the little brunette had realized it she had veered off the path and had no idea where she was. In lieu of outright panicking, Hermione tried to walk a bit further to see if she could spot something even remotely familiar that she could use to guide her way back to her parents. 

What she instead found was a dryad summarily tied to a tree by a seemingly monstrous variety of mistletoe that Hermione had never even heard of before today. After she and Eupheme had introduced themselves to each other, the child had made an attempt to cut the friendly nymph from the tree with the survival knife she had on her. To her simultaneous amazement and frustration, the plant simply grew back faster than she could hack away at it. Luckily Eupheme knew exactly who to contact for help.

“Any luck yet, Miss Granger?” 

Jolted yet again from her thoughts, Hermione sheepishly grinned at the aforementioned ‘contacted help’ before she shook her head and refocused on her task. She had been informed that at the center of this mass of tangled vines and white flowers there was a single red “core.” This was the true main body of the  _ Lumerian Mistletoe _ , and if they were to cut that out then the rest of it would simply fall off the tree. 

After an indeterminate amount of time and  _ just _ before Hermione was about to question whether this ‘red core’ existed at all, she spotted it. It was just a hint underneath it all, but the blood red was such a stark contrast to even the regular browns and blues of the rest of its body that it was almost hard to miss once it peeked out. 

“Mr. Ollivander, I found it!” Her exclamation was quickly followed by a finger pointed at exactly where she saw it last. And faster than what the child thought the older gentleman capable of, he snipped several sections off of the plant. The mistletoe had begun a frenzy of growth after the first two significant cuts of the large shears, but Ollivander was as precise as he was agile and before long the main body of the plant was on the ground in a writhing mess. Hermione took a step towards the core in curiosity, but nearly shrieked when it attempted to whip at her with what tendrils it had left. 

_ “Stupefy!” _ The bewildered child looked up and spotted Ollivander still on his perch, but he had abandoned his shears for his wand again and had it pointed at the seemingly stunned flora. Hermione watched as he carefully descended from the ladder and then  _ floated _ the wild plant into the air. “Well, that was rather rude of it. Eupheme, would you mind if I got rid of it here?” 

“Of course Garrick, though if you could do it just a bit away from my tree?” Hermione nearly jumped in surprise at the arrival of the newly freed Dryad at their side. Apparently without the main body to control them, the tendrils were easy enough for Eupheme to escape from. “The smell of ash and smoke tends to leave me a bit sleepy.” 

With a nod, Ollivander walked a few meters away; all the while the frozen plant floated alongside him. The fascinated child watched as the mysterious gentleman gently dropped his quarry on the ground, and with another flick of the wooden baton in his hand a string of fire emerged from the tip. It slithered out like an eel in water, the flames tightly contained within itself as it circled around the man as if to acknowledge its creator’s existence. With another snap of his wrist, the fiery elemental sprung at the paralyzed mistletoe and within moments it was not but ash on the floor. 

Hermione hadn’t realized she had walked so close, but before she knew it she was already at the edge of the black charred remains of the mistletoe. 

“Why didn’t you do that before?” 

Ollivander quirked an eyebrow at the brunette. 

“Do what dear?”

“That! Deal with the mistletoe with your…” She gestured towards the beautifully carved piece of dark wood in his hands. “Why go through the trouble of conjuring ladders and shears when you can do so much with just  _ that?” _ Her tone was bordering on petulant and there was a blush on her face at the thought of her impertinence, but the mystery was a perplexing one. There was too much she didn’t know or understand, and at the age of six and a half Hermione  _ hated _ not knowing things. 

For his part, the elderly gentleman simply waved off her embarrassment with an endearing smile. 

“It’s a  _ wand, _ my dear. And it’s true, I certainly could have used my wand at the beginning and used magic to deal with the pest. But the mistletoe would have sensed my intent, and I’m afraid it would have panicked and done something hasty and potentially dangerous to our mutual acquaintance.” He gestured to the dryad who had stayed behind to deal with the remaining tendrils around her tree. “The shears were a safer alternative, I feel.” Hermione’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Oh! I wouldn’t have wanted Eupheme to get hurt!” The brunette felt her features turn thoughtful as she looked at the ladder and clippers that were still off to the side. “So why was it safer to use the shears? Couldn’t the plant sense your ‘intent’ with those?” It was times like these that Hermione was quite grateful for her predilection for reading. Even if the other kids made fun of her for “showing off” with bigger words, the better vocabulary was doing wonders for her right now in verbalizing her confusion. 

“One thing you’ll learn in the future, Miss Granger, is that  _ magic,” _ With this he tapped the tip of his wand into his palm as if to emphasize his point. “Is all about  _ intention. _ And while we  _ might _ be able to hide what we intend to do from others, there are some creatures out there that can sense it.” He nodded towards the black soot on the forest floor. 

Hermione nodded, almost as if she were lost in thought… before his words finally caught up with her. 

“Wait, I’ll be able to learn  _ magic, real _ magic?!” For all that the brunette was often touted as “mature for her age,” it was easy to see how young she was when presented with the very prospect of  _ actual magic. _ And that she would apparently be able to learn how to do it herself!

Ollivander nodded, as if he didn’t just drop a monumentally life changing piece of information on a child on a whim.

“Of course dear. After all, all witches have to learn how to use their magic.” 

Or rather,  _ pieces _ of information. With that, Hermione froze as her mind stuttered to a stop as she stared wide eyed at the beaming gentleman beside her.

“What?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the hardest things I struggle with when I write is just the _act_ of getting myself to write. I'm a pretty anxious person, and doing multi-chapter stories is terrifying for me. Between that and my work schedule, it's a wonder I manage to get anything continued. Hopefully with these being relatively short chapters, I can keep this up and get myself used to writing these without panicking. 
> 
> Thanks again to "the_glare_you_see" for yet again encouraging me and convincing me to _not_ set these chapters on fire. It helps more than you know!
> 
> I'll try to get the third chapter done soon.


End file.
